Category Archives: Family

Family

Could You Do This for 4 Minutes?

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Or is such intimacy a hot potato that can’t be held for too long?

I conducted my own experiments yesterday.

Intimacy and Connection: Field Notes

Child A: Was fidgety. Wanted to do something more active, but stuck with the experiment. Persevered through temptations to check the timer, and later stayed to observe as I did the same with Child B. Then kissed me on the way outside to play. I felt a sense of overwhelming love, but Child A didn’t have the stillness for that sensation to move in.

At this point the kids and I watched the above video together. Child B therefore has advance knowledge going into the subject chair.

Child B: Tolerated the 4 minutes but was uncomfortable, with skittish eyes. Even so, I felt moments of deep connection. I could sense this child at a soul level, which felt exquisite because it was devoid of judgment, either of the Child or of myself (“how do I look — do I have bedhead? food in my teeth?”). Child B reported it felt “creepy,” but said so with a sly smile.

Of note: my children are t(w)eens.

Later, Husband came home from a 2 hour bike ride. I caught him in the TV room as he was stretching.

Husband: His eyes bored into mine early on, so I softened and tried to smize. I soon realized it may have been a mistake to conduct the experiment during a basketball game (he allowed me to turn the TV off, but its essence lingered). At one point he zoned out, looking beyond me, perhaps trying to shave off a minute or two with a time warp. He showed great relief when the timer beeped, and humored me by watching about half the above video, at which point it dawned on him what the experiment was about.

My conclusion? Timing is everything.

And for better (and not necessarily more accurate) results, watch the video with your subjects before conducting the experiment.

~~~~~

This post is a part of #Microblog Mondays. What’s that? A post that is not too long. Head over to Stirrup Queens to join the fun.

Family, Reed, Stories, Tessa

How My Family Survived a 3 Wheelchair Night

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#1: The Boy

Early in the evening we got a call from our local Kids Night Out program that Reed had crashed into metal bleachers while playing indoor tag. He had a gash on his leg that should be looked at.

Roger and I cut our Date Night short to pick up the kids and their friends, return the friends to their homes, and head to a children’s emergency room.

Reed entered — and later exited — in a wheelchair.

Interlude

Though in pain, Reed mostly remained his jovial self from the time we retrieved him until the time the doctor said he would need stitches. That declaration broke Reed’s resolve and a full-on panic attack ensued.

holding hands
Reed is comforted by Tessa

First came the numbing gel. Thirty minutes later he was administered nasal versed, which made Reed amusingly loopy (This bed? It’s my best friend!). Finally, he was ready for irrigation and repair.

Roger, allowing his wimpy wife an out, took front-and-center position to hold Reed’s hands and gaze during the procedure.  Our curious Tessa was eager to watch. That left me in the background, avoiding eye contact with all things crimson.

#2: The Girl

The next step in anesthesia involved a long needle, presumably to be administered directly into the wound (I wouldn’t know). Tessa, who likes to observe as people get shots and IVs, fixed her eyes.

And then got light-headed. I was standing next to her and was able to stop her from falling by pressing her toward a wall, guiding her gently to the floor. A nurse helped me get Tessa into what had been, an hour before, Reed’s wheelchair.

The nurse got the two of us situated in the next room. Tessa was given crackers and juice and a wet cloth for her sweaty forehead. We began to breathe together to calm her body down.

And then…from the next room, we heard, “I NEED SOME HELP IN HERE!!”

Interlude

In a flash and of my own making, I became part of an ER episode, certain that Reed had gone into cardiac arrest just a wall away. I was convinced the doc was calling for a crash cart.

Tessa leapt out of bed and we both bolted into the hallway where several nurses were hustling. I peeked into Reed’s room with a vise around my throat.

I didn’t expect to see what I saw.

#3: The Surprise

In a heap on the floor at the head of my son’s bed were my husband’s legs. He had crumbled to the floor, hitting his head on the same wall that my daughter had slid down 5 minutes previously.

Roger had been holding the hands of Loopy Reed, who kept wanting to “help” the doc with the stitches. Why are my legs allllll the way down theeeeere? — he’d ask and point with his whole arm. Roger was charged with keeping Reed’s hands out of the doctor’s way. Having never been squeamish, Roger watched as the doctor probed her finger deep into the wound — into his son’s muscle — to  fish out any debris.

Loopy Reed helping with his stitches
Loopy Reed reaching for his stitches

That scene, along with the fact that Roger had come down with a cold the day before, was enough to vasovagal  him. Moments later — you guessed it — Roger was occupying the family wheelchair.

With ice on his head and an oxygen mask on his face.

I started to laugh at how comical our calm date night had become. I didn’t know where to focus, how to be present for each of my downed comrades. I checked in first with Reed (still loopy, almost all stitched and bandaged), then with Tessa (over her own spell and now concerned about her dad), then with Roger (my dear sweet man, coming back to us and a bit mystified that this had happened).

I remained upright and eventually was able to drive us all home, starting with Reed’s wheelchair ride to the elevator.

boy in wheelchair

And yes, it has occurred to us that our date nights may be cursed.

Family, Mindfulness, Perfect Moment

Perfect Moment Monday: Light of Mine

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I once said,

light of the worldWith awareness, one could have a perfect moment shackled in a dungeon sitting in one’s own excrement; without it, blessings galore cannot compensate.

I still believe that. Despite winning the parental jackpot, despite being blessed with amazing sisters who make me laugh and give good counsel, despite being healthy and sheltered and sharing a home with a loving husband and 2.2 kids (I can say that now that Dexter is here), despite having a passel of fabulous friends and despite having a relatively cushy life compared to 99% of the humans who have ever existed, recently I have had trouble finding perfect moments. Last month I couldn’t even deliver one, and I’m the goldarned host of this bloghop.

I had more than a little anxiety that my dry spell would not end in time for December’s Perfect Moment Monday. But late in the month I relaxed and began again to notice what I have instead of angsting over my troubles.

I am not a big fan of Christmas, at least not like I was as a child. I no longer share the religious sentiment, and I have come to detest the consumerism the holiday represents. The buildup that now begins at Halloween has made my children practically vibrate with expectations that can’t possibly be met. Their anxiety makes me feel unsettled and cranky.

I had vowed, after our extended family dinner, that our part of the family would not to join the others in attending the 10 pm Christmas Eve service at the church I grew up in. But after my children pleaded plaintively for two more hours with their cousins, I reconsidered.

We took up two pews, my parents and sisters and our children, plus my beloved aunt and uncle. Some details of the church experience remained the same as they were during my childhood: the poinsettias at the altar, the order of the service, the antsy-ness of the children — but this time I was the adult, the shusher rather than the shushee.

Some details were different: the pastor and the cantor are now younger than I am, I didn’t recognize any other congregants beyond our two pews, and the communion bread now looks a lot like pita pockets.

The songs were the familiar Christmas hymns I know by heart, even into the second and third verses. During O Come All Ye Faithful, I looked to my left over the heads of my family members and saw the message:

love home peace joy

Peace | Joy | Love | Hope

I felt a perfect moment creeping up on me. The wave began to overtake me, an upwelling of emotion building in my chest and threatening to let flow tears of bliss. I remained in that state until the capper.

Always, the Christmas service’s final hymn, the one we sing as we darken the church and relight it candle by candle, is Silent Night. Mine is a family of singers. Remember this story about my dad? And this video featuring my sisters? My aunt, once a musical theater star, disc jockey and music teacher, has a crystal clear and pitch-perfect voice.

Behind me, around me, within me, our voices — 15 of them — intertwined with each other in exquisite resonance as the shadows gave way to light. I was enveloped by vibrations of love and joy emanating from my family members, three generations of us. Our voices rose in delight for the season, the joy of being together and the awareness that we were making this once-in-a-lifetime memory.

I noticed it!

(And no excrement was necessary.)

~~~~~

A happy moment will seed ten thousand more. — Notes from the Universe.

Which explains why it’s in my interest (and yours) to notice perfect moments.

~~~~~

Perfect Moment Monday is about noticing a perfect moment rather than creating one. Perfect moments can be momentous or ordinary or somewhere in between. On the last Monday of each month we engage in mindfulness about something that is right with our world. Everyone is welcome to join. To participate in Perfect Moment Monday:

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With your Perfect Moment post , you may place this button on your blog (in the post, on the sidebar, or both).What Perfect Moment have you recently been aware of?